Close Enough
by Lily Brennan
Summary: Belle comes to Mr. Gold with a slightly lopsided deal - What could she possibly offer him, fresh out of the mad house? Trying to rebuild her life after leaving the asylum isn't going to be easy.
1. Prologue

"You- you wouldn't have to do hardly anything, really." The young woman stuttered out, red rising to cover her cheeks. "I don't- I think-" She stopped talking, obviously unsure how to pick out one of the many thoughts jumbled in her mind. She huffed, giving up, and shrugged finally.

Mr. Gold was staring at her, all silence and blank expression. They were sitting in the back office of his shop, where he'd taken her when she'd asked to discuss something with him. His fingers were steepled in front of him, and he had not moved an inch since the first word tumbled out of her mouth.

She had wanted to make a deal. She'd gotten it all out in a rush, and then at his lack of response, she'd started fumbling through all the reasons he should help her, trying to convince him more with amount than actual substance of reasoning. She had nothing to offer him in return for what she wanted, but... she was desperate, and she didn't care.

Mr. Gold finally spoke. "And what will you give me, dearie? You have nothing of your own."

She felt hope bubbling up in her chest. _That wasn't a no._

"That doesn't mean I don't have anything you want," she said quickly. The strange look that flitted across his face was gone before she noticed it. "I could work off my payment, work in the shop for you."

He frowned at that. "I have no need of an assistant."

"Well what do you have need of?" She held the arms of her chair tightly. _You have to agree to this deal. Please... _"What do you want?"

Several emotions flashed across his face, but she couldn't identify them. They were gone as quickly as they came, and when he finally leaned forward in his chair, his eyes were blank and he wore a smirk.

"I'll tell you what dearie. Why don't you owe me?"


	2. Keep Breathing

Chapter One: Keep Breathing

Mr. Gold, for the first time in several hundred years of memory, was unsure of his next step. He allowed himself a small uncomfortable fidget when he heard the bell echo through his shop, signalling Isabelle French's exit. He had dismissed her immediately after their deal had been struck, and she'd fairly fled from him, obviously afraid he might change his mind.

That had irritated him. He never went back on a deal.

He ran a hand over his face, suddenly weary of his life in Storybrooke. He held all the cards here, and he had all the answers to everyone elses problems. Who would provide the answers for him?

He scowled. No one would be there to help him. He was alone. And yet...

When Emma Swan had discovered Belle in the hospital, in the mental ward, the Sherriff hadn't realized the gravity of it. He didn't know how Ms Swan had ended up there, or how Belle had come to be freed. That had been three weeks ago. He was still trying to pry any information he could from the stubborn Sherriff, but she was determined it was none of his damn business. He tried threatening it out of anyone that might know, but all avenues of information had proved fruitless.

Still, he was certain of some things. The queen had lied to him. Regina had _lied_ to _him_. Belle had not died, she had not thrown herself from a tower. She lived still. The queen had locked Belle up somewhere before the Spell, imprisoned her and done the-gods-knew-what because Regina knew that the young woman would be the only weakness he might have for a very long time. And because that wretched witch had been so clever, so very cunning, she had kept Belle locked up in this reality, too. Keeping her around, for leverage. For leverage against him.

So when Belle had appeared in his shop, requesting a deal, he hadn't known what to do. It was an unpleasant feeling, not knowing. At first, he hadn't been sure he had heard her correctly. What she wanted him to do was easy enough, and he didn't know why she hadn't thought to ask the Sherriff to help her.

His heart had almost stopped, however, when he realized what was happening. This was a _deal_. A deal with her. Familiar territory, though she didn't remember it. He could demand anything from her, manipulate her into any agreement. She was a desperate soul, after all, and he knew what to do with those.

But it was_ her_. Belle. His Belle. His feelings hindered his cleverness, and he'd been unable to allow himself to take anything particular from her. If he did, their deal would have an expiration date. As soon as she repaid him, she would be gone again.

His last resort had been his best choice, he decided.

If he couldn't think of something on the spot, he was sure her debt would later come to his advantage. But if not, let her owe him one for all eternity. At least then there would always be a connection between them in this place.

He finally moved from his chair and decided to close up the shop for the rest of the day. He had somewhere to be.

XXXX

Her father never bothered her when her door was closed. In fact, he barely talked to her as it was. She made him nervous, she knew. He didn't like having a mad daughter, no matter how sane she felt she was. Still, she knew for certain that he would not disturb her with the door to her small room shut tightly and locked. She needed the privacy.

Mr. Gold had held up his end of the deal and done it in incredible time. She had left his shop less than an hour ago.

The manilla folder on her bed looked far more inconspicuous than she knew it to be. Mr. Gold had procured it for her and somehow left it for her in her bedroom. When she asked her father if someone had stopped by to see her, he looked at her like she was stupid and said of course not. Ignoring the sting of his words, she returned to her bedroom. She wondered if Mr. Gold had paid someone to sneak it into her house, or if he'd simply made it appear out of thin air. She wasn't about to put anything past that man.

She was still standing by her locked door, afraid to approach the file, to open it, to find out what it contained. Then she felt foolish. Wasn't that the whole point of this? She had to read it. She had to know.

It was her hospital file. It would tell her why she had been locked up in that mental ward for so long, why she had been declared insane. It would tell her what she couldn't remember, what Dr. Hopper had explained to her over the last weeks that her mind might never let her remember. A defense mechanism, he'd called it, a protection.

A protection from what?

She sat on her bed and started reading.

None of it made any sense. This file couldn't be about her. _Paranoid. Delusions. Multiple personalies. Dissociative episodes. Self-destructive. Hysteric._

There were accounts of 'incidents', each one stranger than the last. In one she was clawing at the walls, begging to be let out of the dungeon. Another time, she had spent hours banging on her cell door, screaming warnings that ogres had reached the gates and were going to kill them all. The worst, though... She had attacked a nurse and escaped her cell, had somehow gotten hold of a knife. She'd unsuccessfully tried to slit her wrists, crying that 'he'd abandoned' her and there was no point living without true love.

She had no memories of anything, no memories of the madness. By the time she'd finished reading, she was glad she couldn't remember.

Nearly an hour of trying to match up the person in the file to herself had resulted in nothing but an ache deep in her chest and a tear-soaked face.

The woman in this file was insane. Her father had seen it, and had put her away, had locked her in that aweful place where they had drugged her into a sluggish, hazy existence. Belle couldn't reconcile her mind and the mind being described on the papers. She bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut.

_I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy..._

She opened her eyes again, and stared at the name that had been scribbled at the bottom of every important sheet. Belle took in a deep, steeling breath.

It was time talk to Dr. Whale.

XXXX


End file.
